Conductors of Light
by sumthin.clever.5
Summary: Part 4 of my Parentlock series. Smutfic because parents need sexytimes, too. [:


A/N: Part 4 in my Parentlock series following I Will, Through the Good, and In Sickness. I now have no idea how many parts this series will be as this part wasn't part of the original 3 count and I thought of like 3 more parts while writing this. So here we go! :D! Smutfic because parents need sexytimes, too. [: Also, thank you to Keri for helping me with the title.

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Sherlock was fingering him. A prelude to a deeper invasion. Three years of marriage and they still had the same level of intimacy. Nothing they did felt routine.

When they could manage to do anything, that is. Theo didn't always allow for Daddy-Papa alone time. The terrible twos were raging in full force for the toddler.

John watched the band of platinum on Sherlock's finger bob up and down as Sherlock's fingers disappeared and reappeared in and out of him.

They didn't take off their wedding rings. Ever. Not even for sex, though they made certain the rings didn't get lost in an uncomfortable place.

John quite loved seeing the flash of silver on Sherlock's finger while Sherlock ran his hands over John's body. Loved linking their left hands together to see the matching bands mesh, even if the fingers didn't connect effortlessly that way. It didn't matter; they connected. And frankly, John and Sherlock didn't always connect effortlessly, so it was a good comparison for their relationship.

Sherlock kissed the inside of John's thigh as John felt his body quiver. He was close. He could feel it in the tightening of his body.

John knew Sherlock loved bringing him off this way. Fingering him to completion without even the need to touch John's penis. It was a testament to both Sherlock's skill and John's sensitivity.

"Almost," Sherlock observed with another kiss to his thigh.

"Yes," John breathed. Sherlock didn't need the confirmation- their bodies were well tuned- but whatever.

A few more thrusts and creative manipulation of his fingers and strokes across John's prostate and John was crying out his release.

The cry cut off but John's mouth remained open, a silent exaltation of Sherlock as he rode his orgasm.

He came back to himself with Sherlock licking his way along John's stomach, lapping up the cum spread there like a delicacy.

When he finished he nuzzled his face into the crook of John's thigh, burying his nose between John's softening cock and his leg, and inhaled deeply.

John just watched him. Sherlock didn't do this often, but John knew he had a fondness for the musk of John's sex. Enjoyed the scent of release and arousal John's body let off.

John couldn't claim the same. He didn't mind the scents and liquids of sex when they were in the act, but he always felt the need to shower them away afterward. Sherlock, on the other hand, was more than content to wallow in their afterglow. He loved letting the smells and drying cum linger. He liked the thought of them seeping into their skin, the ability to claim John and be claimed by him on another level, primal as it was.

And today John would indulge him. It's not like they were venturing outside of the flat at all. With Mrs. Hudson minding Theo all day, and heavens knew the odors she'd be faced with when she returned him, they had no plans but to shag all day anyway. With maybe a few minor stops for tea and biscuits and bathroom breaks, but that's it.

Sherlock went from nuzzling to kissing. Kissing to licking. Licking to lapping his way up John's cock. It took a ridiculously short amount of time for John's sated body to become needy as hell all over again. And Sherlock just kept at it. He was like a kid with an ice cream cone. Long swipes of his tongue from base to tip, short flicks when John's member leaked a bit of precum, twirls around the head like he was giving the ice cream that perfect swirly finish.

And finished John almost was. He was too sensitive. It was not only his natural state but he was also delicate from having come a matter of minutes ago.

And just when John thought he was moments away from a particularly fantastic orgasm, Sherlock left off. John almost whimpered. So damn close. It took an enormous amount of restraint to not put a hand to himself. He'd promised Sherlock he could do what he liked today. He was currently regretting that promise immensely.

Sherlock just looked in John's eyes and smiled as if he knew every thought currently running through John's head. And surely he did. The git. He'd brought John to the pinnacle and left him there on purpose. It was times like these that John wished they were a bit less connected and in tune.

Sherlock stood and retrieved the lube and starting preparing himself. John forgot his annoyance with him immediately. Finally. He'd been dying to be properly filled since Sherlock had first stuck a finger in him.

John lied on his back and watched as Sherlock aligned himself. Sherlock pushed in slowly and John sighed as he felt himself stretching. Bliss.

Sherlock pushed until he was seated fully and stopped. John enjoyed the sense of fullness for all of a second before he needed movement. He looked up at Sherlock and found his husband watching him. John quirked an eyebrow in question and received a small smirk in return. Damn. Mischief. What the hell was he planning?

Sherlock withdrew a fraction and pushed back in. John closed his eyes and let his head fall back to the pillows. Friction. Lovely friction. Need more friction.

Sherlock teased him like that awhile longer. Shallow retreats and returns and the smallest amount of movement he could make. But that was fine. He was moving. So long as he kept at it John wouldn't complain.

The retreats got longer, the return thrusts deeper. Heaven. John rode the sensations coursing through his body. He felt like he was flying. He'd have to check his arse for wings later.

They'd done the quick fucks. The hurried shags between Theo time –which was almost all the time these days- before Theo demanded their attention again. But with him gone for the day, they were intent on taking their time.

And Sherlock was making good on that aim. The longest, slowest pulls in and out that John had ever suffered through/ basked in. There were curses on his lips and he didn't know whether they were damning Sherlock to hell or telling him to hurry the fuck up or maybe, please, shit, just make it last a bit longer.

"Sher- Sherlock."

That's as much as he could voice. Air was a commodity that he was in dire lack of. So, so close right now. He could feel it. His elusive orgasm was just out of reach. If Sherlock would just move a little faster, go a smidge deeper, change the angle just a bit, he was sure he could capture it.

And Sherlock did. Clearly taking pity on a barely coherent John, he sped up his thrusts, sank deeper into his body, swiveled his hips just enough to strike John's prostate and John cried out as he came for England.

Had John still been aware of his surroundings, focused on anything that wasn't the best and longest orgasm he'd had in ages sweeping through him, he'd have felt himself tightening around Sherlock. Felt Sherlock's pace speed up again as he searched for his own release. Felt Sherlock slamming his hips into John with almost bruising force while still trying to hit John's prostate to make his husband's orgasm go longer. He'd have felt Sherlock still as he found what he was after and shudder his way through bliss.

But John wasn't aware. The first thing he noticed after his orgasm released him was Sherlock lying on his stomach and a sticky mess between them. John didn't mind. Not really. How could anything be wrong after that? He just stroked his hand through Sherlock's hair until they heard a knock on the door.


End file.
